Shadow of the Sun
by invisalite
Summary: The aftermath of Yang 3 in 2D. Shawn's a bit more fragile than everyone thinks. Read chapter 1 for the note about the title! DISCLAIMER: I do not own Psych. Just for the sake of my brain. T for language. Shules to Shassie.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: OKAY I'M BACK FROM DYING**

**In other words, here is another multi-chap that I'll probably abandon to die. I was tumblin' along on tumblr the other day (read; like an hour ago) and an anon was like "If Psych ended and you could have your optimum ending what would it be?" And this baby was born. SO PAINFUL. Anyway.**

**REVIEWS ARE LIKE CRACK. REVIEW AND I MIGHT FIND MOTIVATION TO WRITE MORE**

**NOTE ON THE TITLE: In Chinese, Yin and Yang mean "sun" or "light" and "clouds" or "darkness" respectively. Hopefully that clears up why it's the shadow of a sun. Because saying Shadow of Yin would be just awkward.**

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><p>Shawn bolts upright again in his bed, shivers wracking his body and cold sweat on his forehead. He pants, before becoming aware of the presence next to him. The fake psychic nearly jumps out of his skin before realizing who it is.<p>

"Shawn, are you okay?"

He calms down at the sound of Juliet's voice, but something keeps eating at him. That nightmare. The one where he couldn't keep delaying. The one where Mr. Yin hadn't followed standard villain procedures. The one in which he watched Gus... He shakes his head again. Mr. Yin is as scary as dead Gus. Probably the same thing.

"...Shawn?"

And at the moment Juliet touches Shawn's face, he leans into it, just longing for any sort of contact. The junior detective winces.

"Ow... that's..."

Shawn shies away.

"I'm sorry."

Juliet blinks, before settling back into a warm smile.

"Shawn... it's okay. I'll be okay, we'll be okay. Just calm down, and get some rest."

He nods slowly, watching his girlfriend drift asleep. As Juliet's eyelids flutter closed, he sighs. He needs to do something to get his mind off of this dream. Hefting himself up, he shivers as the cold air hits his legs. A shattering sound catches his ears as he hisses in pain. The glass sitting next to his bed had fallen off the nightstand and shattered. Shawn curses, and then sidles around the minefield to get to the bathroom to bandage up his torn foot.

The soothing yellow glow does more for his gashed limb than all that gauze. Shawn sits on the ground, hair in vivid disarray. As he reaches for the counter to help pull him up, he knocks his phone to the ground. It clatters noisily on the tile. He fumbles at the thing, muttering under his breath for the damn phone to "keep quiet, for all that is good."

He means to bring it back with him to put it on his nightstand, but that doesn't happen. His fingers are somehow on autopilot as he unlocks the screen and dials a phone number that he _shouldn't_ know by heart. By the time the phone's ringing in his ear and a gruff "'lo?" echoes through his rattled brain, he's hoping that he can pull on his normal façade. Not broken, not wrecked, not—

"Lassie."

Damn, that was _convincing._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Ugh, so I wrote this earlier. It's up on the LJ copy of my story, but I didn't get to post here until today. Sorry guys! **

**In response to one of my reviewees, this will be slash eventually. If that dashes your hopes, I'm sorry... I believe I said that it would be in the summary? If not, I guess I say here: THIS WILL BE SLASH EVENTUALLY. But no porn. I cannot and will NOT write that.**

**Thank you _all_ for you support though-I actually sat down and wrote this the day after I finished chapter one. Maybe I'll get more motivation eventually. :)**

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><p>Lassiter is awakened by his cell phone buzzing angrily to the tune of Cops. He grunts, not even bothering to look. Eventually, as the melody starts screaming in his ear he cracks one eyelid open to glare at the display.<p>

_Spencer?_

"'lo?"

To be honest, Carlton isn't expecting much from the younger man. A prank call, maybe. A bad joke. Something about pineapples. Or something else nonsensical. Not this broken, wrecked mess of a voice that he hears on the other line.

"Lassie."

It's enough to get Carlton to sit up and lean back against the backboard of his bed. The sudden chill of the open air has him hissing a bit.

"Spencer, what's wrong?"

There's a bit of breathing for a while on the other end before, "I cut up my foot," floats into the empty silence of the room. Lassiter rolls his eyes but tries to keep listening.

"And that's it? That's all you called me for?"

He winces internally as he hears a sharp inhale through the phone.

"Look, I didn't mean anything bad. But isn't there someone else who can help you?"

There's silence for a bit before Spencer's voice rumbles through the phone again, almost a whimper.

"I don't think so."

Carlton fights back yet _another_ eye roll.

"Not even your girlfriend?"

And that's when he turns bright red, face flushing. He opens his mouth almost in an attempt to call the words back, but of course it's no use. Carlton opts for silence. She's treated him quite well before.

But of course, Lady Luck has taken Sweet Silence out for a night on the town, so Shawn continues to break down.

"I… I can't put all of this on Jules."

Wait—since when was Spencer _Shawn_ to _him_? And when, dear sweet Justice, _when_ did Sha—_Spencer_—become so damn _chivalrous_?

Lassiter chooses silence yet again, because he's not good in these situations. He's not a feelings person. That was probably the only truth he told Buzz while they were in the station after putting away Yang and that psycho blonde girl. He was a robot. Partially.

When it came to cases concerning a certain fake psychic, he was totally human. He was constantly stuck between shouting at the younger man and kissing him senseless—it was enough to drive him almost as crazy as that nutcase, Mr. Yin. But not _that_ crazy. He had succeeded for the most part in quashing the sentiment via shouting and lots of rough physical contact. Yet none of his repression techniques had prepared him for the shock of discovering that Spencer was dating his partner. _His_ partner, of all people. He felt his stomach drop at the thought of that again. He holds his eyes shut for a moment before returning his attention to the phone.

"And why can't you do that?"

He can hear his voice softening and _shit_ it's not supposed to go like this.

"I can't because she's fragile too. And when you put two fragile people together, you end up with just more broken pieces. Of course, that'll end up with me just running and I can't do that to—"

"Spencer, please tell me when you picked up the chivalry act. It's really not your style."

Lassiter's face flushes again as he tries to swallow any more of his word vomit. But it just keeps coming.

"Between your shenanigans and your chivalry, it all amounts to nothing. Really. And with all the bullshit that you put out at the station, I'm surprised that Juliet even trusts you with half of this stuff."

Carlton hears a snuffle on the other line before realizing that _yes,_ he _did_ say _all fucking that_ out _loud._

"Shit, Shawn, I'm sorry, I…"

He catches himself on the younger man's first name. It tastes strange and foreign in his mouth now. He had always thought that it would roll right off the tongue.

"It's okay, Carlton. I understand. I'm sorry to have woken you up."

The dial tone hums contentedly in his ear after Shawn hangs up. Carlton just slumps over onto his pillow, throwing his cell phone against the wall.

W W W W W

Shawn should've known that it would have been a terrible idea to call Lassiter. But he was desperate. Things were getting shaky over here on Ground Zero. He knew that everything that Lassiter had said was 100% true—he hadn't been truthful with Juliet the entire time, about the psychic charade, the hyper-observance, just _everything_ really. The only nugget of truth he had uttered to his girlfriend was his speech about how he would protect her. And he meant it with all his heart.

_But who's gonna protect me?_ He thinks, hanging his head. _Once Juliet finds out the truth, she'd never want anything to do with me._

A noise in the bedroom catches his attention. Juliet appears in the doorway, her feet cut-free.

"Shawn? Are you okay? I thought I heard voices."

Shawn nods slowly, carding one hand through his unruly hair.

"I… I think I'll be fine."

Juliet plops down next to him on the floor.

"D'ya wanna talk about it?"

He stares at his lacerated feet, pondering a bit.

"I… I'm tired."

She grins at him, all love and warmth.

"Mmkay. We'll talk about it later though, right?"

Shawn tries to nod, but he's getting to the point where the need for sleep has saturated his entire being. Things are shutting down. Juliet pats his hand.

"I'll clean up the glass, by the way. I don't want you getting cut up again."


	3. Chapter 3

**a/n: Well, here's another update for this really slow-moving story! It's so hard to write at the moment-writer's block is a terrible thing. Hope you all enjoy this!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

Lassiter tries to not note how Juliet walks into the police station without her boyfriend on her arm.

_Oh, quit your moping. If you'd acted earlier on your feelings, you wouldn't be in this situation right now._

He shakes his head angrily before returning to glare at his paperwork. Really, this shouldn't be bothering him so much.

_I just told him the truth, that's all._

"Morning, Carlton," Juliet says, breaking through the guilty fog that is Carlton's thoughts. His head snaps upwards to look at his partner.

"Oh. Good morning O'Hara," he mumbles. She smiles winningly at him before sitting down at her desk.

Carlton's head droops back down as he refocuses on the papers that refuse to write themselves. He looks up every time the station doors open, but not once does the fake psychic grace the bullpen with his presence. By the time lunch rolls around, Carlton has only gotten one case report written up and his brain feels very fuzzy. He looks up and finds Henry sitting at his own desk, writing something up. Henry senses that Carlton's looking at him and eyes him.

"Something on your mind, Carlton?" he asks. "You've been distracted all day."

Carlton shakes his head madly before mumbling some excuse about a terrible breakfast. He gets up and grabs his coat before dashing (why is he dashing?) out the front doors of the precinct. The moment he's outside, he dials a phone number that he probably shouldn't be. Shawn's sleepy voice answers him.

"H'lo?"

Carlton's voice catches in his throat. Why was he doing this again?

"Spencer."

Carlton can just see Shawn flinch on the other end.

"Hey Lassie."

The nickname drops out of the phone speakers with dead weight, no usual life or spunk behind the words. Carlton fidgets because one, he's not good with this feeling stuff and two, he's never been good at apologizing, even when it's his fault. He opts for dancing around the issue.

"Is Guster busy today?" he asks, voice gruffer than usual.

"Why does that matter to you?" Shawn yawns, voice still heavy with sleep. "It's not like you guys worked well the last time you tried."

Carlton works his best to bite back another scathing comment. This time, he's successful at keeping his tongue on its leash and he settles for silence

"Why'd you call, Lassie?" Shawn asks, his voice slowly losing its sleepy quality.

Carlton's free hand fiddles with the buttons on his coat.

"Last night, I—I mean, you haven't been by the station at all."

"So?"

"That's not normal," he blurts stupidly. "Normally by now, you'd have been by right about now and you would've annoyed me in about seventeen different ways."

"Aw, Lassie, do you miss me?"

Shawn's usual teasing is lacking any sort of life, and Carlton slumps slightly as he realizes that he's the cause. He silently apologizes to Shawn for what he's about to say next.

"No, Spencer, I don't."

"Well, it sure sounded like you did!"

Carlton can tell that Shawn is masking like crazy. He has to be the worst person ever, rubbing salt onto a wound that he reopened. He can't find any words to say in response to that and just opts for not talking. Shawn contributes to the conversation unilaterally after a couple seconds of quiet.

"Carlton, I cut my foot up real bad last night. I haven't had time to go to the doctor's yet and get crutches, so I'm home in bed."

Carlton gasps.

"Shit, I'm sorry," he mumbles.

"'Snot your fault," Shawn replies quietly. "I was just being clumsy."

Something wells up in Carlton's chest at that admission.

"You're not clumsy, Shawn."

There it is, again. First name basis, a surefire red flag. Shawn seems to notice it this time, as there's a pause in both talking and breathing on the other line.

"Well… I should go. Hope your foot gets better," Carlton stutters, hanging up the phone hurriedly. Glancing at his watch, he curses before walking angrily back into the precinct. It's not like he needed lunch, anyways, really.


End file.
